


Kinktober 2017 Week Four: Day 22

by TheSpaceCoyote



Series: Kinktober 2017 [4]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Collars, F/M, Glory Hole, M/M, Master/Pet, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 12:03:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12481140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Collaring, Scars, Glory Holes.





	1. Aurelia/Tim, Collaring

**Author's Note:**

> Going to post the last week of these day-by-day :) Enjoy!

“ _This_ one,” Aurelia lilted, stroking the top of the lacquered box, “will look positively _divine_ on you, pet.”

Timothy’s throat bobbed as he nodded, keeping on all fours as he looked up at his mistress. She flipped open the clip on the box, opening the lid and showing off the glinting insides. Nestled against deep blue velvet lay an ornate, silver collar, heavy with diamonds and sapphires and looking more like something to be hung in an art museum rather than fixed about somebody’s neck. Still, Tim gives a little whine of approval, sitting back on his haunches and tilting his chin up to bare his throat to his mistress.

“Ah! Yes! I knew you would _love_ it, just the way I did!” Aurelia cooed, her long fingers flitting about Timothy’s neck as she fixed the collar flush against his skin. Timothy’s throat bobbed as the collar settled in a heavy, yet surprisingly comfortable weight about his neck, tipping his head forward into Aurelia’s waiting hand.

“ _Oooh_ , yes, pet, you look so very very lovely in your new collar,” she sung, ruffling Timothy’s auburn hair, her turquoise nails scratching affectionately against Timothy’s scalp. He mustered up a pleased purr, much to her vocal delight.

“Such a good little boy, modeling his new collar for mommy.” Aurelia clapped her hands as she rose, taking a seat in her large, ornate chair. She patted her thighs, smiling as Timothy crept forward, laying his head against her knees. He nuzzled affectionately against the expensive fabric of her dress slacks, slowly nodding off to the comforting stroke of her firm hand up and down the back of his neck.


	2. Scars, Rhack

Jack has lost track of the times where Rhys has elected to carefully undo the clasps of the mask bolted to his face, and pour love and affection upon the mutilated, hidden face below in some naive attempt to ease the shame and ache and fury brought on by remembrance of the reason for his scar. Despite the gesture’s futility, it had become somewhat of a comforting ritual, to the point where Jack would almost selfishly demand it, needing the comfort of Rhys’ hands and lips and gentle words against his blistered flesh in order to fall into a sleep devoid of shimmering nightmares.

Even so, when he wakes one night to the sound of Rhys gasping and pain and clutching at the stump of his right arm, Jack’s not sure if he should do anything. He stays glued to his side, eyes darkened in the night of the bedroom as he looks towards Rhys’ hunched torso, silhouetted against the starry backdrop of their massive window. He considers the embarrassment and shame he had felt in showing his own scars, baring his own pain to Rhys’ tender fingers and curious glances, and for a moment resolves to force himself to sleep and remember this all as a dream, when Rhys’ manages to eke out a pained—

— _Jack_ —

Which snaps the CEO’s resolve in two and sends him shambling into an upright position, arms wrapping as carefully as possible around Rhys’ torso.

A surprised gasp cuts through the fog of whimpering pain as Jack’s cool lips press against the inflamed tissue clustered around Rhys’ arm socket. The metal is warm as the flesh, as a part of Rhys as his lips and tongue and hair and eyes and legs, and it almost responds in kind to Jack’s presence, to the soothing balm of his kisses as he gently rubs his hands up Rhys’ front to brace against his chest. He slowly feels Rhys relax against him as he nuzzles into the top of Rhys’ gnarled shoulder.

Long after his lover had gone limp and heavy against him, the spot of drool at the corner of his lips glimmering like starlight, Jack keeps kissing over the lumps of scar on Rhys’ flesh, contemplating their pattern, like warped links in a chain, until he too rests back against the headboard and falls into calm dreaming.


	3. Rhysothy, Glory Holes

Given that Timothy had such a high-profile job, sometimes it was nice to just…. _unwind_ and do something mundane and…maybe slightly filthy.

In one of the many abandoned hallways in Helios that had yet to be remodeled and reworked into something useful, there was a room full of dusty office cubicle and outdated tech that had already been stripped of anything salvageable. Tim had heard a couple of rumors come up through the pipeline about this place, and with a thrill in his step he’d headed down to give it a try.

As far as he can tell, the only other thing in the office room besides himself is an errant cleaning roomba that is busy bumping itself into one of the walls, and just as he’s starting to feel silly about having his cock out and stuck through a hole he’d found in one of the cubicles—and maybe wondering if this had all been a set-up by Jack to humiliate him—something warm and wet breathes against the sensitive head of his dick.

* * *

Given that Rhys had such a dull, middling job, sometimes it was nice to spice things up and indulge in something risky and _definitely_ obscene.

 _Nobody_ knew about his secret hobby, and the only people who knew about the hole in the cubicle on Floor 1143 were the people degenerate enough to put stock in a fairly outlandish rumor. There was something exciting and crude about being used by any random person who decided to push their genitals through Rhys’ secret hole, and the cloaking device he’d _borrowed_ from an R &D cohort ensured that even if someone tried to sneak around the cubicle and catch him, he would never be seen and maybe even blackmailed.

The dick that comes through this time is _very_ handsome, and weirdly familiar, though Rhys can’t put his finger on it. It’s smooth and warm to the touch, glans clean and sculpted with almost surgical precision. Rhys honestly can’t wait to get his mouth on it, forgoing his usual habit of keeping his victims hanging for awhile and instead getting right to the good stuff.

Whoever this is makes the sweetest, sexiest moans that Rhys has ever seen, and unlike some of these encounters it encourages him to go even further—nearly pressing his nose up against the now-clean metal of the cubicle wall as he pushes the head of the cock near the back of his throat. Slick muscles spasm around the shaft as Rhys slides it in completely, his tongue undulating against its underside as he lets out a muffled moan.

Rhys almost feels sad as the cock leaves his throat, oozy trail of cum dripping over his lips and splattering over the old carpet. He licks his lips at the contented sigh from the other side of the cubicle, and before he can stop himself he breaks his cardinal rule—stepping around, even with a cloak, to see who’s cock he’d been sucking.

When he does, his heart nearly stops. 


End file.
